


A Christmas Miracle, Please!

by tinysparkofmagic (stardustandangels)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Christmas Market, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Bitty is a student at Samwell, First Kiss, Fluff, Hoarding, Jack isn't awkward but Bitty might be, Jack sells Christmas trees, Jack's chirping game is out of this world, Jack's incredible organisation skills, Love at First Sight, M/M, or something like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandangels/pseuds/tinysparkofmagic
Summary: Eric has found another outlet for the stress that his classes cause him. On top of baking, he writes and animates a cartoon for children. He's fairly successful, too.When he hears the voice of the boy selling Christmas trees he knows that he needs this boy's voice. But is Eric brave enough to actually ask him to help him?





	

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas Fic in February? Why not?
> 
> For Debby. Let's just say it's Christmas and birthday present, yes? <3 Happy (belated) Birthday, darling!
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a mash-up of Stephanie Perkins' short story "It's A Yuletide Miracle, Charlie Brown" and Ngozi's webcomic Check Please! Both are heavily featured in this. Neither the story nor the characters belong to me. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Eric loves this Christmas tree lot. It is brighter – and maybe even _warmer_ – than his tiny apartment for one thing. Fires crackles inside metal drums. Strings of bare bulbs are crisscrossed overhead. And, right beside the entrance, there is a giant snowman that glows in an electric white-blue. Its pipe even gives off small puffs of smoke.

He loves the husky green scent of the Fraser firs and the _crinkle crunch_ of their shavings underfoot. He loves the flannel that everybody who works here seems to wear as some kind of uniform. He loves the careless banter and the shouting of the men while they are hefting the trees on top of station waggons and sedans, tying them down with twine pulled straight from their pockets. He loves the makeshift wooden shack with its noisy cash register. The shack's walls are bedecked with swags and wreaths, and its rooftop dripped with clear-berried mistletoe like icicles. And he especially loves the search for the perfect tree.

_Too tall, too short, too fat, too skinny. Just … right._

Eric Bittle has been coming here ever since he started studying at Samwell. Eric has always loved Christmas, in his opinion it is the most magical time of the year. He loves the music, the flair, the feeling. But this year, everything is different. The only thing that his pre-Christmas time contains is coming to the Christmas Tree Lot. Frequently. For an entire month. Because how do you ask a complete stranger for a strange favour? He has been wrestling with this question since Black Friday, and he has yet to find a suitable answer. Now, he is out of time. Christmas is approaching much faster than he has anticipated. Solstice is tomorrow, and that meant that Eric only has exactly three days left until Christmas Eve. Which is still a too little amount of time to put his plan into action, so he has to stop procrastinating and be brave. He has to act tonight.

But he isn't here tonight because he needs a Christmas tree. Eric is here . . . for a boy.

God that sounds bad, even in his head.

But he isn't here because he _likes_ him, this boy who sells Christmas trees. The boy who always seems to wear chequered flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, even though it is freezing outside. As if the cold doesn't bother him one bit. Eric is here because he needs something from him.

Yes, he is cute. Eric needs to acknowledge that. There is no getting around it, the boy is an attractive male specimen. He simply isn't his usual type. He is . . . brawny. Lugging around trees all day gave one a certain amount of defined musculature. Eric could only describe him as a walking cliché of tall, dark and handsome with his sharp cheekbones and defined jawline. Not to mention the dark unruly hair and the bright blue eyes which gaze Eric is more than terrified to feel on him. He is terrifyingly handsome but that wasn’t the only reason why Eric dreads the interaction with this beautiful stranger. He would usually go for a person with more artsier, more _indoor_ activities if he got the chance. Usually these people seemed more approachable to him than tall and muscular guys. Eric knows he isn’t in bad shape but still, he’s got nothing on Christmas Tree Lot Boy.

Figure skating is a very unusual activity for him, as he normally tends to stay clear from any sort of sports that involve team activities. The football practice disaster in elementary school is not something he ever wants to experience again. Not if he can’t help it.

However Christmas Tree Lot Boy has something all these other guys lacked. Something Eric needs only he can provide.

He needs his voice.

The first time he hears it, Eric is cutting through the parking lot that lies between his apartment and the bus stop. Every holiday season Eric’s been here, Zimmermann Trees takes up residence in the north-eastern corner of the lot which belongs to a Walmart super store. It is the most popular tree-buying destination in

The boy's voice has Eric stopping cold. He is in the process of unloading slim, straightjacketed trees from the back of a truck and shouting instructions at another employee. Eric crouches behind a parked Minivan and peers over its hood like a bad spy. Eric is shocked at his youth. He looks about the same age as Eric, maybe a year older maybe two, but the voice that seems to be his is spectacularly age-inappropriate. Deep, dark, a little rough around the edges, first and foremost it is confident. He has a light tilt to his tone that Eric can’t quite place, but he’s immediately in love with it. Completely and utterly gone. It’s not the only thing that draws Eric to him, it’s the fact that it’s quite sardonic as he shouts at his co-worker, but the sarcasm laced in the boy’s words makes it so much better. It seems too powerful for his body, but equally fitting his demeanour. Its cadence is weary and dismissive, yet somehow a remarkable amount of warmth and humour underlay the whole thing.

It is a good voice.

Christmas Tree Lot Boy's voice is so distinctively different from Eric's own, it is exactly what he needs for his current project.

Eric has a semi-popular show on YouTube where he shares all sorts of recipes of all sorts and the one or other anecdote of his struggles as a student. But recently he has been seeking other outlets than baking, because for one he can’t eat that much himself and his roommate is always a willing taste tester, too. Still, his stress-baking is getting out of hand lately.

So, Eric has decided to take up a new hobby that he can practice on a low-budget level, but allows him the same creative outlet as baking does.

He’s always been doodling on his notes during class, though that has never been something he thought he would pursue any further than that. They were never particularly good, but that has never been an issue. After weeks and weeks of Lardo’s heckling – she said they were cute and Eric does trust her artist’s opinion – he’d begun to draw a cartoon about a hedgehog and a rabbit going on adventures. Soon that hadn’t been enough and he’d taken animation courses at Samwell. He'd been making these little short films for himself, for fun, to practice his drawing skills. Soon he'd begun to put them up on the Internet and they've found a life of their own. But since he launched his official YouTube channel with his animation it had taken off. After a year Eric had more than 100,000 subscribers. It quickly overtook his baking and vlog channel.

Eric did most of the voices himself, getting additional help from Lardo or some of her artist friends.

But this episode is ... important. Sure, he is proud of what he had created, but just the two characters and an additional cameo of some other animals have begun to get a bit boring over time. He desperately wants to introduce a new character. Maybe someone a little bit bigger, a little predatory who still became friends with his main characters. He wants to create something new for his subscriber special.

So, he needs this boy's help, and he needs it now.

It is an unusually blustery night. Eric goes on his search between the trees first – free apple cider clutched in his cold hands, Eric is definitely not immune to its lure – and straining his ears over the sound of laughing children and roaring chainsaws. Under any other context, Eric thinks, this would be alarming. Laughing children and chainsaws should never be in the same place. Never. But here it is just an addition to the merry holiday cheer. Or it would have been, if Eric's angst-y feelings weren’t about to take over and make him want to run as far away as possible.

"Can I help you with anything?"

 _There_. In the far right corner. Eric can't hear the customer's entire reply, only partially because the customer spoke too quietly for anybody to hear them. Except Christmas Tree Lot Boy seems to understand him perfectly. Eric, on the other hand, can only hear the boy's follow-up. “No problem. Just flag one of us down when you need help. Anything."

Reluctantly Eric takes several steps toward his voice, knowing that the only way this will happen would be if he acts now. Not tomorrow, not the day after. So Eric speeds up, placing himself forward as fast as possible. He hurries along a row with the seven-something foot tall trees. The boy rounds the corner first.

Eric positively smacks into the boy's chest. Startled, the boy takes a step backwards, balancing out the force of their collision. He takes Eric by the shoulders and steadies him gently. He pushes Eric from his body, so he is an arm-length away. To his previously startled expression, there is a frown added now.

"You've been here before."

Now it is Eric's turn to be surprised. A clueless expression sneaks on his face.

"It's the hair." He nods at Eric's light blond hair that is now falling over his eyes. Eric takes a step back and swipes his signature bangs out of his eyes. His woollen hat has also lost its purchase on Eric’s hat and it’s sliding off, slowly but surely. He pushes it back with a practiced motion. Eric smiles nervously, he feels more than a little embarrassed and the brave feeling he had earlier has turned into a black hole that is consuming all his confidence in bare seconds.

"You know," he says over Eric's silence, "most people only have to buy a tree once."

"I live over there." Eric points past the grocery store to an older looking apartment complex on the other side of the street. "And I catch the bus over there." He points at the street beside the grocery store.

"Oh, okay. Then I won't stand in your way." Christmas Tree Lot Boy says, but doesn't move.

"I'm not going to the bus stop."

"So . . . are you buying a tree?" He looks at Eric with his head tilted lightly to the left. Is there something wrong with his appearance? Eric itches to check, but he immediately squashes down the urge to do so.

At least he didn't look frustrated. Eric takes a second to look this boy over. He has bright blue eyes and his hair is a warm dark-brown, almost black. Short, but messy and a little curly at the ends. His eyebrows are currently knit together in a light frown which makes his jawline seem even more prominent. The light from the lights of string that hang above the tree lot reflects on the boy’s high cheek bones, and Eric damns himself because why does he not only have an incredible voice and look so incredibly good on top of everything?

So, Eric has been lying to himself when he said that he hasn’t thought of Christmas Tree Lot Boy _that_ way, because he totally has thought about burying his hands in that hair and about kissing those lips that are now curled into a light smirk.

He is even larger up close, his arms and chest even broader when compared with Eric's own lithe figure. He is wearing a red plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, as always, the uniform of Zimmermann Trees.

Is he a Zimmermann or a seasonal hire? Eric doesn't know, even though he has spent a lot of time lately lurking around being absolutely not creepy at all.

It isn't that Eric doesn't want a tree. He does. He really, really does. But he just can’t afford it. He is a college student, even if he has a scholarship, he still has to pay for his books, plus he has to pay for the shitty apartment, because he couldn’t get a place in the dorms at Samwell. Eric's brain scrambles for another way out of this situation. He needs more time to suss him out – and time to show him that he is a totally normal human being and not some kind of weird stalker – before asking the scary question. Unfortunately, for Eric's financial situation, a tree seems to be the best option.

"Yes," Eric says. "Well, _maybe_." Better to explain that now. "I was wondering if you guys had any . . . you know. Charlie Browns?”

The moment Eric asks it, he feels ashamed. How could he be so stupid? That sounded so cheap! And then even more ashamed for _feeling_ ashamed in the first place. But Christmas Tree Lot Boy (Eric got kind of sick calling him that in his head, but he still hasn’t got a better option.) breaks into an unexpected grin. He takes off and Eric has to hurry to keep up with the boy's long steps. He leads Eric to a gathering of pint-size trees near the register. They only come up to Eric's knees.

"They're so . . . short." It is very hard for Eric not to sound disappointed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Bud did you or did you not ask me for the _Peanuts_ special?"

A thrill shoots through him, hearing this voice again at such a short range. He could positively hear his smirk just in his tone. Eric is short of swooning for the guy. There is just a hint of true amusement and not only mockery in there, which probably allows him to get away with saying all sorts of rude things.

Eric can play this game, too.

"Charlie Brown's tree was pathetic," he said, "but it is almost as tall as he is."

"Yeah, and guess what?” He pauses as if he is waiting to deliver the punch line. “He is short."

Eric can't help but crack a smile. "How about something larger . . . but with a large, un-coverable, unsalable hole? Do you have anything like that?"

The boy's eyes twinkle mischievously. "All of our trees are perfectly fine. And therefore perfectly saleable."

"You must have at least _one_ ugly tree."

He spreads out his arms. "Do you see _any_ ugly trees?"

Eric smirks at that, he just can't hold it in any longer. "No. That's why I'm asking where they are."

The boy grins – a slow, fox-like grin – and Eric senses that he is pleased to be verbally caught. "Yeah, okay. Maybe we have something over here. _Maybe_."

He strides back into the trees and leads Eric down the row beside the chain-like fence. They stop in front of a tree that is taller than Eric, but smaller than Christmas Tree Lot Boy. Exactly in between. "This one's been sitting in the lot for a few days. It has a sizeable hole down here," – he picks it up and turns it around effortlessly. Its backside faces forward now. – "and then this other one up here. But you could put it against a wall –"

"Like you guys did there?" Eric can’t stop himself from asking.

He gives Eric another mischievous smile. "And it would still look full to anyone inside your home."

An incredibly loud, boisterous family is wandering down a row to their left. A little girl, mother and father, they look so happy. Eric is getting nostalgic, he misses his family. Once upon a time, this could have been him and his parents, but these days are long gone. The girl points at the biggest tree in that row. If Eric had to guess, he would say it is over ten feet tall. "Can we get _that_ one?"

Her mother laughs heartily. "We'd need a much bigger living room for this one."

"Do people own living rooms that big?" The little girl asks incredulously.

"Some people." Her dad says.

"When I grow up, I'm going to have one so big, so I can buy the tallest tree every year!" She exclaims and Eric has to blink to not let his tears spill. Back in Georgia they always had a gorgeous tree, not too big and not too small. Eric had always pestered his Dad to get a tree that was so tall it touched the ceiling of their living room just so it could be the tallest tree out of all the trees their relatives had.

Fortunately, the guy from the Christmas Tree Lot interrupts his thoughts. "Do you like that one?" Melancholia blossoms in Eric as he realised . . . he really wants a Christmas year this year. Even if it meant a financial setback for him. He wants Christmas to feel like Christmas again, even if he is going to be celebrating along.

"I _do_ like it . . ." He turns over the paper card attached to the tree and winces. That is way more than Eric has anticipated.

"Oh, that's the old price." Christmas Tree Lot Boy says. "I can knock off ten bucks."

It still costs more than Eric is able to spend with a good conscience. "I'd take it for half price." Eric tries to bargain.

"For a tree this size? You're crazy." The guy looks at Eric with an incredulous look on his face.

"You said it's been sitting here, unwanted, for several days."

"I said _a few_ , not several. There's a difference between that, you know?"

Eric stares at the tree and the boy in front of him whose eyes are sparkling with the reflection of the fairy lights strung around the edges of the hut's roof. All in all it looks like misplaced piece of a fairy tale in their real world. Somehow Eric cannot bring himself to hate it, he actually liked the flair it gave off.

"Fine. I'll knock off fifteen." He tries to sound exasperated, but his grin tells Eric otherwise.

"Half price." And when he looks at Eric with this are-you-kidding-me look on his face, he adds, "Listen. That's all I actually _can_ give you."

The boy considers this. Considers _Eric_. The intensity of his gaze makes it a struggle for Eric to keep his eyes on him. But Eric is determined now. And if he is anything, stubborn has never been one of those things. He tells himself that if he is just telling him often enough that Christmas Tree Lot Boy would change his mind eventually.

He has a distinct feeling that he is getting the discount.

"Deal." He finally grumbles. But with a tiny hint of enjoyment.

"Thank you," Eric says, suddenly relieved, as the boy hefts away Eric's tree.

"I'll freshen the trunk while you pay." And then he calls out, "Mom! Fifty percent off this orange tag!"

So he _is_ a Zimmermann.

His mother – a woman with a cheerful smile on her face, looks up from her paperback romance and nods at Eric. "Ah." She says, "It all makes sense again."

Eric furrows his brow in confusion. "Sorry?" He says. A chainsaw sputters to life nearby.

The woman winks. "It's hard to get a discount out of my son."

It takes Eric a moment – he is still distracted by the pressing question he had yet to ask – but as the woman's comment has sunk in, the heat is rising to Eric's cheeks. In less than ten seconds Eric has blushed so hard, his cheeks are now a deep red.

"Our customers normally leave with _more_ than anticipated." The woman's voice is warm and pleasant, but there is a hint of an accent in it, that Eric can't place.

"Oh, I wasn't even going to buy a tree," Eric says quickly. "So this is definitely still more than I anticipated."

Now the woman smiles. "Is that so?"

"He's a great salesman." Eric isn't sure why he feels compelled to protect the boy's reputation with his mother. Maybe that is because he is about to ask him a favour. Eric pays for the tree in cash, eager to escape this conversation while dreading the one that still lay ahead. Eric has a not-so-great feeling in his stomach when he glances at his watch. It is almost eight o'clock.

The chainsaw stops, and a moment later, the boy heads towards Eric, with his tree nestled in the boy’s arms. He is going to have to ask him. Eric is going to have to ask him right –

"Which is your car?" He asks.

Eric blinks before he gets what the boy is asking. _Shit._

Their realisation comes in at the exact same time.

"You don't have a car," he says.

"No."

"You walked here."

"I did."

They stare at each other for a moment.

"It's okay," Eric says. How could he forget that he still has to get the tree _home_ after buying it? "I can carry it."

"That's ridiculous." Eric is trying not to look hurt. Okay, he is not that tall, and not really on the buff side of things, but he can definitely carry his tree, thank you very much.

"Really, it's okay. That's my place. Right over there." Eric points at the only black window on the most upper floor of the neighbouring apartment complex. All of the other windows in the complex have decorated windows. Every balcony has strings of lights attached to the rails or some other kind of Christmas-y decoration going on.

"That's yours? The dark one on the top? Under the roof?"

"Yes."

"I've been staring at this apartment for weeks. It's a real downer."

"Thank you so much," Eric says with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "You should see the inside, though." He jokes. Because _no one_ saw the inside of his apartment. Ever.

"I guess I'll have to."

"What?" Eric is alarmed. "Why?" This is definitely not how Eric has pictured this evening going. He is short of panicking when the boy speaks again.

"You wouldn't even make it halfway. This tree is heavy. Unwieldy." To demonstrate he shifts the tree in his grip slightly. The boy lets out a huff of air and Eric's eyes are glued to the muscles playing under the skin of the boy's forearms.

 _Unwieldy_. What a word. Almost instantly Eric's brain goes wild with scenarios that involved a certain boy, his voice, and several words that almost sounded like music when spoken by this one special person.

Eric snaps back to the present. He hates feeling helpless. Something that happens way too often since he started going to Samwell. But that’s just his opinion.

And now he needed to the boy's help not only once, but twice.

Eric digs his arms between the branches and grabs the trunk. "Seriously. It's okay." Eric wrestles the tree toward himself, at the same time kind of hoping Christmas Tree Lot Boy would wrestle it back.

"I've got it."

"Let go."

"I'm stronger than I look."

"I don't believe you. Let!" The boy tugs at it. Hard. "Go!"

Eric lets go. He pretends to look put out, even though he is actually glad that he doesn't have to tame this monster of a tree all by himself.

"Sorry." Christmas Tree Lot Boy says, after a moment. He really does look sorry. "But it'll go faster without you dragging it down."

Eric raised his hands in surrender. "If you say so."

"I'm a lot taller than you. The balance would be uneven," he explains. If by taller he meant a good fifteen centimetres, then yes, he is probably right about the balance thing, too, but Eric hates to admit that. Eric only comes up to the boy's collar bone, maybe his shoulder if he is optimistic. Eric shrugs uncommittedly when the boy calls out to his mother, "I'll be back in twenty, max!"

The woman's eyes in the stand narrow in suspicion. "You're taking your break?"

The boy sighs. "Yeah, mom."

Eric trots behind him as he struggles the tree out of the lot. He feels like an idiot. Also, he feels a strong surge of guilt. "You shouldn't be doing this."

"You're right. I shouldn't." Eric can't see the other boy's face, but he could swear there is not an ounce of remorse in his voice. There is a gust of freezing wind and Eric has to push up his tightly knitted scarf that with the addition of his glasses made him look like a hipster. But he couldn't care less what other people think of him, the scarf is warm and comfortable and he absolutely needs his glasses to see something. Eric is very good at being a hipster ironically. Which made him even more of a hipster if you'd ask his best friends.

"Thank you," Eric says. "I really appreciate it."

"You better." He grunts, but now Eric is sure he is smirking. The expression seems nice enough, so Eric asks, "What's your name?" He is also getting really, really sick of calling him Christmas Tree Lot Boy in his head.

"Jack."

"Huh. Okay. Hi Jack." The words just seem to slip out of Eric's mouth.

Christmas Tree – Jack actually chuckles, but Eric is still feeling like he just messed everything up by putting his foot in his mouth. He’s just so damn awkward these days. What wouldn’t he give to be a bit more smooth around cute boys?

Jack stops and turns toward Eric. The needles of the tree shudder with the movement.

"Hi. So, I told you my name, why don't you tell me yours?"

"It's Eric. Eric Bittle."

"Nice to meet you, Eric Bittle," Jack says while they cross the street. Eric is mesmerised by Jack's voice. He doesn't want him to ever stop talking.

"So what brought you to Massachusetts? You don't sound like you're from here."

"I'm not. I'm from Georgia."

“What does a boy from Georgia do up here?”

“Studying?” It comes out as a question and Eric isn’t sure how to continue this conversation. Luckily Jack drops the topic after a few more questions and they venture on in silence.

This endeavour is actually going a lot better than Eric has first anticipated. Jack is surprisingly easy to talk to, yes he brings out Eric's awkwardness, but he also goes along with it.

Jack thunks down the tree in front of the entrance door of Eric's apartment building. He lets out a singular exhausted breath. "You. Help. This tree is fucking heavy." Jack leans the tree on its side, then leans heavily on the wall next to entrance while Eric is trying to fish his keys out of his messenger bag.

Eric props the door open and then proceeds to grab the top half of his tree. They manage to manoeuvre the tree into the building. The stairs are an absolute different question. Getting the tree up the stairs is going to be a hard piece of work. With their significant difference in height and strength, it proves more than a little difficult to get the tree up the stairs.

It takes several uncomfortable steps to get their rhythm down. " _Of course_ you live in the back building," Jack said. " _Of course_ you live on the top floor."

" _Of course_ you're never going to let me live that down." Eric takes in a breath and smiles at his chirp. Lardo taught him well.  

"And _of course_ you're making me regret your help forever."

This is not going well. Eric has hoped this whole adventure would – hopefully sooner than later – come to an end.

They navigate slowly through the U-shaped landing of the first floor and not long after that they arrive on the second floor. This is going a little bit better than Eric expected. Well, his expectations have not been that high to begin with, but it is at least something.

"Can't you move a little faster?" Jack asks. "This tree's getting real heavy down here."

"Can't you be a little nicer?" Eric snaps back. Then he adds much more softly, "Sorry." Now Eric feels guilty that he isn't moving faster. Jack is shouldering most of the tree's weight. His apartment seemed like the lifeline while Eric is drowning.

But Jack doesn't seem like he heard Eric's mumbled apology. "Seriously, you're like a sea cucumber. Which I assume are slow, because they are named after a vegetable. Which don't move at all."

"I'm honoured." He bites back.

"Maybe you're even a starfish."

To that Eric doesn't respond at all. He doesn’t know if Jack’s chirping him or just plain insulting him. He has no idea how to get back at him even if he has to admit that the comparison is pretty hilarious. He takes the next two flights of stairs significantly faster than the previous two and when they arrive at the top floor, Eric feels the adrenaline pumping through his veins. As soon as Eric set foot on the third landing he almost dropped his end of the tree. Jack keeps moving and Eric is short of toppling over.

"Sorry," Eric says, scuttling to keep up. "It's hard to get a grip."

"It's a tree. Trees have great grip. Their whole body is made for gripping." Eric blushes profusely when the suggestive meaning of Jack's words sink in. He chooses to ignore it.

"Maybe I could get a better grip if you aren't shoving and pulling so hard on this tree."

" _Maybe_ I didn't have to push so hard if you could carry your own weight."

"That doesn't even make sense." Eric accidentally slams his elbow against the railing on the next stairway landing. "Ow."

"Just let me do it, okay?" Jack shoots forward and yanks the tree from Eric's hands. "I got this." With something short of a battle cry Jack storms up the last flight of stairs. He drops the tree on the fourth floor, and it skids forward several feet.

"What the hell is that?" Eric near-shouted, he simply doesn't have the breath for full-on shouting anymore.

Jack grins mischievously. "Went a lot faster, didn't it?"

"You nearly took off my fingers," Eric exclaims in mock-offense.

"Looks like I didn't need your help after all. Because you aren't any. Help, I mean. You aren't any help.”

"I didn't even want a tree." Eric glares at him. Forget it, enough. The voice work is out. Eric wouldn't ask him, he could perfectly voice this project on his own. Jack's voice isn't anything special. "You talked me into this. This is your fault."

"Then next time, pick somewhere else to loiter."

By the time Eric arrives at the topmost floor, his breath is laboured and each intake of breath rattles in his chest. Is he that out of shape already? Everything will be alright if he just kept breathing through it, right?

Eric heaves the tree into a standing position and shuffles it towards his apartment door.

"Sorry," Eric says, again, but louder this time. "And I wasn't loitering."

Just when Eric shoves his key into the apartment door, a door is thrown open somewhere downstairs. Loudly.

"What's going on up there?" a harsh voice cuts through the silence between Eric and Jack.

Eric cringes. "Sorry, Mrs Smith." He hates to upset his neighbours, but it is impossible to live up to Mrs Smith’s standards.

"I knew it was you. I knew you are up to something!"

Jack smirks and raises an eyebrow.

Eric leans the tree against the wall beside the door and takes a deep breath before answering. He looks at Jack and shakes his head lightly. "I'm just bringing home a Christmas tree, Mrs Smith. Sorry for shouting."

"You're not putting it on the balcony, are you? I don't want it dropping down needles onto mine, I wouldn't want to have to clean up your filthy mess."

Both of Jack's eyebrows rise.

Eric turns the key in the lock, he has to rattle the knob around a few times before the door springs open. "It's going inside, Mrs Smith. Like all normal Christmas trees do." Eric adds under his breath.

The door below slams shut.

"She's a peach," Jack says.

Eric is done with this whole irritating escapade. Finished. The End. "Thank you, Jack. I appreciate carrying this up for me, but I've got it from here."

Eric opens the door fully and turns on the light. "Good night."

But Jack isn't even looking at him. He stared past Eric into his apartment with widened eyes. "And how, exactly do you plan on carrying a tree into that?"

"I'll work it out." Eric snaps back. Jack is wearing his patience thinner and thinner.

 

Furniture and bags and boxes are stacked to the ceiling. Literally to the ceiling. Even with the lights on, the apartment is still dark. The towering, shadowy objects block most of the light.

And there is only one pathway through it, straight ahead, barely wider than a person.

"You're a hoarder." The tone of Jack's voice is amazed and incredulous at the same time.

"I'm not a hoarder." Eric's tone gains an edge, "And neither is my roommate."

"Then what's with all the hoarding, hoarder?"

Eric's chest tightens and it is getting harder to breathe. Again. "Let’s just say the apartment description was ‘fully furnished’. Which is definitely not untrue."

"Why isn't this stuff in storage?" Jack sounded concerned now.

"I have no idea. Maybe because that’s the only reason rent I can handle the rent of this apartment. Basically, my landlord gives us a discount on rent so he can also use this space as a box room on top of us living here. Without that, I could never afford to live here."

Jack doesn't seem to have a sassy comeback for that one. An abashed expression crosses his face, but it disappears equally as quickly as it has appeared. Eric suspects that he did that with purpose. Maybe he somehow understands.

Much softer he asks now, "So where am I supposed to put the tree?"

"I told you. I've got it from here."

"Clearly you don't. It can't even fit through here." Jack gestures at the narrow pathway through the stacked-up boxes.

Eric eyes the insides of his apartment suspiciously. "That could be a slight problem." He hates to admit that Jack is right. But Jack doesn't even seem to be bothered by all this mess.

"Well, then let's change that." Jack nods at a stack of boxes right next to the door. "What do you say?"

Eric doesn't say anything, Jack has rendered him speechless effective immediately. An abashed expression crosses his face, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. It even seems like he did it on purpose. Maybe Jack understood.

“So … where am I supposed to put the tree?”

“I already told you. I’ve got it from here.” Eric says, with no real heat behind his words.

“Clearly, you don’t. It can’t even fit through there.” Jack gestured at the narrow pathway. He had a small, barely recognisable smirk on his face, Eric would even say it looked kind of … fond?

“Where’s your endgame?” Eric looks at Jack, confused to what he meant, but Jack just rolls his eyes. “Where do you want to put it?”

“Oh. Of course, yes.” Eric’s thoughts are running in circles, there is no space. No place to actually put the tree. It is impossible. A familiar sense of fear and humiliation is creeping up on him. Why has he thought purchasing this tree, as small as it is, would ever be a good idea?

“Eric?” Jack pokes him with his glove.

“Oh, sorry. By the glass sliding door, in front of the window, maybe?” From their vantage point, the window isn’t anywhere to be seen, the stacked boxes blocking their view. “Like all the others in the building.”

Jack cranes his neck across the threshold. “And where should that be? West, east, north? I need a little more direction.” A grin spread over Jack’s face and Eric’s cheeks are burning red and not because it is freezing outside.

Eric pointed vaguely in the direction of the glass door.

“The balcony door? The one _behind_ the china cabinet?”

“Yeah. Maybe?”

“You’re insane. Why would you buy a Christmas tree?”

“Because you’re extremely persuasive!”

Jack whips around and stares at him. For a moment, his expression is unreadable. And then … he smiles. It’s is warm – unexpectedly warm – and it makes Eric feel the tiniest bit calmer. Maybe it’s just him being too distracted by Jack’s eyes lighting up which only seem to happen when he smiles to really think about the problem at hand.

“So what are you gonna do?” Jack asks.

“I guess … shift some of this around?” His expression is as doubtful as his question and Eric is sure there is a deep crease forming on his forehead. After all he and Lardo had barely touched anything since they’d moved in.

Jack takes a tentative step into the apartment. As he scratches the back of his head, Eric’s heart sinks. He shouldn’t be so embarrassed – _They had a reason for this, damn it. This is all temporary, damn it, nothing more_ – but he is.

“This is madness,” Jack says. “There’s no way this is safe.”

“We’ve been here since I was a freshman, so that’s two years for us now, and nothing has fallen on us yet.” Eric shrugs.

“You’ve lived in this pit of death for _two_ years?” Jack steps further into the pathway between the boxes. It leads to the most basic and primal living areas – kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you bring my tree in here,” Jack calls out from around the corner. “It would die before Christmas. And that’s only five days away.”

“Actually, it’s _my_ tree now.” Eric protests weakly.  

Jack’s head pops up behind a stack of boxes. “And I’ll ask again,” he gestures to the boxes surrounding him, “why exactly did you buy a Christmas tree?”

“Because I _like_ them. My parents” – Eric stops himself before he continued uneasily. “We always used to celebrate Christmas together, me, my mom, and my dad. But I haven’t celebrated Christmas since I live here.”

Eric expects Jack to call him out for being defensive, but Jack does nothing of the sort. “Where are your parents now?” He asks softly as if he already knows what Eric is going to say.

“They’re living down in Georgia.”

“Huh.” Jack walks back around the stack of boxes. Fortunately, he doesn’t press the topic because Eric doesn’t really feel up to elaborate. He can feel the tears rising in his eyes and his throat closing up.

“I can’t really afford a plane ticket down there,” Eric says, trying to offer at least a tiny bit of information.

Jack places his hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t mean to bring this up.”

“It’s okay. I just have a hard time talking about it. I miss them.”

“Then let’s talk about something else, yes?” Jack’s eyes are glinting with mischief and Eric can’t even think of telling him ‘no’.

“Where is your roommate now?”

“Lardo? She lives here?” Eric doesn’t really get what Jack wanted to know.

“Yeah, but where is she _now_?”

“At work, I think. Teaches some art workshops down at the community centre. Why?” But as soon as the words have left his mouth, Eric is horrified. He just told a _stranger_ , no less a very attractive stranger, that they are _alone_. How could he be so stupid?

But Jack only seems irritated. “So there’s no one to help us. Fantastic.”

“Excuse me?”

Jack slides out a small ebony end table from the top of a furniture tower as carefully as if he are playing a game of Jenga. “You’ll have to back up now.”

Eric’s frustration is growing at a colossal rate. “Sorry?”

“This _can_ all be reorganised, but I’ll need a lot more space to work. Everything in these front rooms” – Jack shakes his head to one side then to the other – “needs to be moved out there.” He jerks his head toward the outside hall. “You’re in my way.” And then he pushes forward, backing Eric out of his own apartment with his landlord’s end table.

Eric is gobsmacked. “What are you _doing_?”

“Helping you.” He sets down the table beside Eric’s Christmas tree. “Obviously.”

“Don’t you have to get back to work?”

“I do. Which is why you’re going to keep doing this while I’m gone. One item at a time, okay?” Jack nods and the smile on his face when he looks at Eric is positively blinding. “Okay. I’ll be back when my shift is over.” Jack answers his own question.

* * *

Eric still doesn’t understand how Jack had talked him into this. For the last two hours, he has been carrying dusty chairs and dirty cardboard boxes and trash bags filled with linens and laundry baskets filled with plates and cups in them into the outside hallway. Mrs Smith has already yelled at him three times.

What would Lardo say when she came home – or what would his landlord say if he found out – and found that their _entire apartment_ had been rearranged? And that Eric has let a _stranger_ help him do it? That it had been Jack’s _suggestion_?

Though … this isn’t true. Not entirely.

Eric does sort of know why he has let Jack talk him into this, and it isn’t just because he thought for sure, that _now_ he could ask for his help with the voice work. Jack’s company has been the most entertaining Eric has had in ages. With Jack, he doesn’t know what would happen next. It’s thrilling and terrifying at the same time. And for the last several months Eric had known exactly what would happen next. He has been struggling with his self-worth, with no goal after finishing college, his seemingly endless workload of classes. Eric has kept to himself, with only the silent company of a sketchpad, oven, and his computer – and the world and people contained within it.

Jack on the other hand, he is real.

Eric has to take a teeny tiny break to catch his breath. Eric gets up quickly when he hears steps coming up the stairs. He goes to the still open door and greets Jack at the door.

“Happy solstice.” Jack hands him a tree stand.

“Solstice?”

“The shortest night of the year. This night. Tonight, so to say.” Jack smiles.

Eric’s gaze travels to the tree stand. “There should be one of these. Somewhere. My landlord mentioned that we could use it if we wanted to.” He adds.

“I do believe you. I think there is one of anything in here. But I’m not betting on our chances of finding it.”

Eric isn’t sure whether to be annoyed or amused. He tends to amusement a little more when he thinks about it.

Jack barges past him into his apartment. “Thank you, Jack,” Jack says with a smirk.

No, _annoyed_. Eric is definitely annoyed now. He clenches his jaw. “Thank you, Jack.” He says with the all the sarcasm he could muster.

“You’re welcome, Eric.” Jack glances around the room appreciatively. “Wow. You got more cleared out than I expected.”

“Like I told you earlier: I’m stronger than I look.”

“It’s brighter in here, too.” Jack winks at Eric. Is Jack _flirting_ with him?

It is fact, it is brighter in the apartment, and he can’t refute that. But everything he has cleared out still has to come back inside. Eric wishes that he could throw it all out instead. But none of it is his stuff, so he can’t really do anything about it. “You seriously think we can fit all of that back in here? And with enough room for the tree?”

“You sound doubtful. Why do you sound doubtful? I have yet to do a single dubious thing in your presence.”

Dubious. That is another good word. Not only does Eric like _how_ Jack spoke, he also likes _what_ he spoke. “You’ve done a lot of dubious things,” Eric points out.

“Name one.”

“Helping _me_ out, someone you don’t even know, in such an extreme manner? That’s textbook dubious.”

“I’d like to argue that,” he grins, “but I can’t.”

“Why _are_ you helping me?”

Jack’s eyes return to the mess in Eric’s apartment, scanning its square footage, measuring its nooks and crannies. “I’m not trying to sound pretentious, but I do have superior organisational skills. I sense how things can fit together. I’m, like, a human Tetris. It’s my superpower. It’s my duty to help you.”

Eric crosses his arms. “Your superpower?”

Jack grins. This whole conversation seems to be very entertaining to him. Or maybe it’s just the fact that Eric doesn’t understand a word he’s saying over his ridiculously handsome face. “Everyone has at least one. Unfortunately, most people have dumb ones like always being the first one to spot a four-leaf clover. Or always being able to guess a person’s weight to the exact pound.”

Eric wonders if that are true. It is nice to think that he might have a superpower, even a dumb one, hidden inside of him. What could it be?

“Okay.” Jack pushes him back into the real world. “While I move the rest of this furniture” – Eric hasn’t been able to move the bigger items on his own – “you’ll need to vacuum and dust. It’s like eight cats live in here. Do you have eight cats?”

“I have eighteen.”

“Ah.” Jack furrows his brow. “But do you have a vacuum cleaner?”

Eric lifts his chin and looks in Jack’s eyes. “Yes, of course.” Though admittedly, they haven’t been able to use it much in here. Cleaning has always been too big of an effort that Eric and Lardo only rarely have time for.

“Will Mrs Smith be angry to hear you vacuuming at this hour?”

“Very.”

Jack’s eyes glint in the dim light. “Perfect.” How could Eric not have noticed how lively Jack’s eyes are? The icy blue of his orbs reflects his emotions perfectly.

 

Eric vacuums, fends off his neighbour, and dusts the newly emptied areas of their apartment while Jack hauled around the furniture. He hasn’t wanted to admit that they didn’t have dust rags – well, they probably have some in the apartment _,_ but God only knew where they are stored– so Eric used washcloths from one of the trash bags. He has no idea if they are Lardo’s or his landlord’s or even his own, and frankly, he doesn’t really care anymore.

The apartment has two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, a dining room and a living room. All in all it could be pretty comfortable and roomy if there wasn’t stuff that didn’t belong to him everywhere the light hits. When the front rooms are clear, Jack explains their next move. They are standing in the centre of the small dining room. Eric has never stood on this particular patch of carpeting before.

“We’re going to turn this room – since it’s divided from the others – into the storage space. We should be able to fit almost everything in here, including the stuff from your bedrooms, everything you don’t need, and we’ll stack the rest alongside that wall.” He points toward the longest wall in the living room.

Eric frowns.

“Don’t look so sceptical. It’s all about how it’s stacked and packed,” he says. “What I saw when I arrived is a complete mismanagement of space.”

Eric understood Jack’s logic, but after how he’d been living these past years, he still couldn’t imagine anything different. Or, he had to acknowledge, maybe he isn’t allowing himself to imagine it. Maybe that would only lead to disappointment.

“The apartment was exactly like this when I moved in,” Eric says. “I didn’t touch anything. It’s all on my landlord.”

“But _you_ left it that way.”

Eric is too ashamed to answer Jack’s unasked question _Why?_ He isn’t even sure, he understands the full answer. Thankfully, Jack is already walking through the apartment again. “We’ll need the biggest, flattest pieces first,” he states.

“Like the china cabinet?”

“Exactly like the china cabinet.”

They carry it together, stiffly and clunkily, but the instant it is in its new place, Eric feels a little bit … lighter. The glass sliding door is free and clear. Eric can see outside, not that he’d see much at this time of day, or better at this time of _night_ , anyway, but he can actually see the lights of the grocery store and the crescent moon on the December sky. He could step outside and feel the cold air burning in his lungs, but he doesn’t. He turns to Jack and asked: “What’s next?” There is a place for the Christmas tree now, it is really hard to downplay his excitement. “The bookcases?”

Jack shakes his head. “That’s an _empty_ china cabinet. Wasted real estate.”

“Oh.” Eric hesitates. “I have no idea what was supposed to be in there.”

“That doesn’t really matter now. We just need to fill it.”

Jack points out the correctly sized boxes and bags, and they use them to pack the interior. They move on quickly, removing the large farmhouse from Lardo’s bedroom, the one that has been bothering her for ages, and resting it on its side across from the china cabinet. Into this arrangement they insert the bookcases – stacking their shelves with still packed boxes of books – and two overstuffed living room chairs. A porch swing, a rocking chair, and half of the regular dining room chairs are further tucked in with Jack’s expert precision.

The way Jack stacks everything – some things upside down, some thing on their sides – _is_ Tetris-like. Blocky, Stable. Every piece of furniture is padded with linens and towels, and every remaining crevice is jammed with knickknacks and small appliances. Everything is dusted before it is slid into place. Jack only vetos only a handful of items – a lamp, a rug, and a few others. Those are set aside.

The air is cleaner. Emptier. As more space is created, Eric becomes more aware of his breath, became aware that he can actually breathe now, the restriction on his lungs that he always feels in the apartment that he never knew where it came from, is almost completely gone now.

“What about the couch?” Eric asks. “It’s still in my bedroom.”

Jack mops his forehead with his shirtsleeve. He is sweating. “It’s going into the living room so you can use it.”

The thought – that incredible simple thought – felt peculiar.

“You guys need something to sit on beside your beds. Somewhere to relax when you both come home from school or work.” Jack unbuttons his red-plaid flannel shirt. “Something to sit on while you admire my tree.”

Holy mother of God. Eric is thankful he is already flushed form exertion. He tries to remain focused, but the sight of Jack undressing is monumentally distracting. “You keep calling it _your_ tree.”

Jack grins. “I grew it, didn’t I?”

“I bought it, didn’t I?”

“And I’m very glad you did.” Jack tosses aside the flannel shirt. He is now only wearing a black t-shirt with the NPR logo on it.

Eric is doubly tongue-tied and on top of that, his throat is getting dryer by the second.

He knows, on some level, that Jack must like him. People just don’t _do_ things like this if they _don’t_ like you. But this is the first out-loud acknowledgement that maybe he is here for something more than utilising his superhuman organisational skills.

It is thrilling.

And then … there is the t-shirt. National Public Radio seems like something a boy who likes _indoor_ activities would be interested in. A boy a little more like Eric. Maybe they have more in common than he thought they do, more than a mutual appreciation for verbal sparring.

But the fact that Eric hasn’t immediately given him a smartass retort took Jack’s own smartassery down a notch. Jack looked unsure of himself like maybe he’d misread the situation. Like maybe Eric isn’t interested in him.

Oh, Eric is interested.

He is definitely interested. Very much so.

Eric gives Jack a cocky smile. “NPR, huh?”

Eric’s expression makes Jack straighten his shoulders and Eric couldn’t help but notice – really, really notice – the shape of his upper body. The fact that it had shape, Eric could see Jack’s muscles move underneath the fabric. The images in Eric’s head are running wild, picturing Jack’s muscles, his skin … Eric shakes his head to ban those thoughts immediately, and there is really no use in popping a boner in his living room in front of a boy that he barely knows.

But as Eric’s question sinks in, Jack grows embarrassed. He turns around to shove a shoebox filled with nuts and bolts into one of the last remaining crevices.

“I got it during their last pledge drive,” Jack says, meaning the t-shirt.

Eric hums uncommittedly, waiting for Jack to go on.

“I like keeping up with the news. I like learning things.”

“My _mew ma_ listens to NPR.”

Jack’s back is still turned. “So I should have asked this earlier, but are there any boxes of Christmas decoration that we should be looking for? There must be something around here, right?”

Jack is changing the subject instead of playing along. Interesting. Until now, Jack didn’t like somebody who couldn’t resist a comeback. Eric decides not to push any further, as he’d obviously hit a sore spot with that particular topic.

“Or do you want to keep your tree bare?” Jack continues dryly. “The way nature made them?”

 _There_ is the Jack Eric has gotten to know over the last few hours. But he doesn’t really know him, did he? Eric is suddenly struck by how badly he wants to get to know him.

Eric moves toward him. “We’ve always decorated ours. And I think I saw some boxes with Christmas decoration around here a few months ago.”

Jack turns around, not realising how close Eric is standing behind him. Jack doesn’t step back and his confidence doesn’t waver. “So you’re saying there’s a box.”

Jack’s voice is so deep that it rattles through Eric. There is something so special about Jack’s voice, something smooth and round, and something else he couldn’t place just yet. “Yeah, there are two, I think,” Eric says breathlessly.

Jack smiles. “Care to describe these boxes?”

“I think one was for an old Lego castle and the other for a Lego pirate ship.”

“I don’t think I have seen those around yet.” Somehow Jack’s voice has gotten even deeper and it is a little rough around the edges. It is – Eric can admit it – extremely sexy. Deep and sexy … about Lego boxes.

Eric turns away from Jack, smiling to himself. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee? Tea?”

Jack seems amused by Eric’s rambling. Even if he doesn’t understand it. “A coffee would be wonderful, thank you.”

The kitchen is a wreck, but – unlike how the rest of the apartment had been – it contained much more room to manoeuvre around in. As Eric brew the coffee, Jack grabbed a round patio table and two dining room chairs, and he made a cosy new dining area in one corner of the living room. Eric usually ate standing up at his desk – when he ate at all. He couldn’t really remember the last time he and his mother had had a meal together. Before his father’s death, family dinners are always a given, especially when Eric’s father is on leave. But now their little family seemed to fall more and more apart.

Jack appeared behind him, pointing at the coffee making device.

“What’s that?”

“A French press.”

“Fancy.”

Eric shrugged. “My Lardo doesn’t believe in electric coffee makers, she always says they remind her of work and very bad coffee.”

“At least she believes in coffee.”

Eric laughs as he removes two mugs (with Lardo’s abstract drawings on them) from the cabinet. “How do you take yours?”

“Black,” Jack says.

“Figures. A hearty lumberjack like yourself.”

Jack snorts.

Eric grins. “I take mine not so black, I prefer lots and lots of milk and sugar.”

Jack leans over the island in the kitchen, leans his tall body toward Eric’s shorter one. “And here I had you figured for a black tea kind of guy.”

“Right.” Eric rolls his eyes. He hands Jack his coffee. “I have no idea where you got that from, but I’ll roll with it.”

“You look very hipstery.” Jack gestures at Eric’s glasses. “And then there’s the scarves and the boots … I could go on.”

“Hey.” Eric pushes his glasses up his nose with his index finger. “I don’t have these by choice, I actually need them to see properly, you know?”

“And here I am, thinking an eye-defect is just a lifestyle choice.” Jack smiles brightly at Eric. “Are you vegan, too?”

“I’m not even a vegetarian, even though my roommate doesn’t eat much meat, as we are poor college students and good meat is very expensive. So I only ever eat meat in the school cafeteria.”

“School-lunch meat. That’s desperation.”

Eric smiles. “You have no idea. I was always glad I found something there that wouldn’t potentially make me throw up or give me rashes or choke me to death.”

“So, I get two things from this a: you’re not a student anymore, right?”

“I’m a student at Samwell. I’m a junior. Sorry to disappoint. You’re not, are you?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen. You?”

“Twenty-one.”

They smile at each other, shyly. The moment grew bigger and bigger, until it is _too_ big. Jack shifts in his seat. “And b: you have a shit ton of allergies that could all potentially kill you?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“I’m relieved, I can’t imagine how that must be.”

“It must suck, right.”

The silence between them grows bigger until Jack breaks it again. “I was a vegetarian once. But only for a few months. I had to go back to eating meat because I needed that level of protein and energy for the farm work. But the moment I’m out of here, I’m gonna try it again.”

“You aren’t interested in the family business?”

“No way.” He smiles. “My grandparents started our tree farm, my parents expect me to take it over when they retire, but I don’t want to.”

“Family owned and operated since 1964,” Eric says, quoting their sign.

Something flashes in Jack’s eyes. Maybe pride, maybe relief, Eric can’t tell. Sometimes it is so easy for him to read Jack’s expressions, but the next second his face is unreadable and Eric has absolutely no idea where he stands with Jack.

“That’s right,” he says.

“So why don’t you want to be a tree farmer, Mr Zimmermann?”

“It’s just not in me.” He sips his coffee. Eric knows Jack is trying to be casual, but there is something in his tone that he can’t quite hide. Something that is more distressed than indifferent.

“So,” Eric asks again. “Why don’t you want to be a tree farmer?”

Jack smiled grimly. “It’s true that I’m not interested in it. It’s just that I don’t have much choice... These are the struggles of an only child.”

Eric is struck by the excessive bitterness in his pronunciation of these words. “But … you want to get out, right?”

Jack nods. “It’s just not that easy. I mean my parents aren’t old yet, but my father had a pretty serious injury on the farm last year and he can’t pull as much weight as he used to.”

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”

Jack stares down his coffee mug. “It’s getting harder for him to work, and my parents have been relying on me more and more. It’s just me and my parents. So, what of a choice do I have?”

“Oh, hon, you always have a choice. Even if it doesn’t feel like it. You may not see it now, but you will eventually.”

A tiny smirk starts at the corner of Jack’s lips and Eric takes great pride in making this gorgeous boy smile, even if it’s just a little bit. “Wise words, Bits.”

“Deep down I’m a eighty year old moo maw.”

“With how many cats?” Jack chirps him. That’s right, Jack’s chirping him. The gloomy atmosphere is instantly lighter and Eric smiles openly at Jack.

“I wouldn’t mind the occasional cat. I think they’re great companions and also: pretty adorable.”

“Likewise.”

Eric can’t believe his ears. Is – is Jack flirting with him?

“So, Jack,” Eric feels a little out of the water here. “What do you want to do if you had the choice?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“I’ve always wanted to be a hockey player when I was younger.”

“And now?” Eric doesn’t want to press but damn him if he isn’t curious.

“I want to study history, I think it’s really interesting and I really want to learn, you know?”

Eric just nods and waits for Jack to continue.

When Jack doesn’t continue, Eric decides that it’s time to drop the tragic backstory talk. On the other hand, Jack has told him about his, so it would only be fair if he’d return the favour, right?

“I can’t go back home to Georgia for Christmas. And it’s not just because I don’t have money for the flight.” He blurts out.

Jack crooks his head questioningly.

“I came out to my parents before I went to Samwell. They did take it fairly well, I honestly always tend to expect the worst. I’m pretty sure they already knew that I’m gay. My mama probably knew long before I did, so…” he trails off.

Jack looks so attentive and Eric heart melts. “My other relatives were not quite as open to the idea as my parents. Last year’s Christmas was a disaster. Half of them was passive-aggressively rude to me and the other half straight out ignored me. It’s not something I want to experience again.”

“That sounds horrible. I understand.” Jack nods but he looks like he’s far away in his thoughts. But then his expression changes drastically and a teeny tiny grin spreads on his face. “All the better you have me to make your Christmas sw’awesome!”

“I’m a very lucky guy, indeed.” Eric drapes his hand over his heart dramatically.

Jack laughs. And if that laugh isn’t the most beautiful thing Eric has heard in his entire life.

“Are you going to Samwell, Eric?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m doing Language and Culture, but I’d really like to bake more or, you know…” Eric forcibly interrupts himself, he can’t tell Jack about his animation project just yet. “Anyway, what are your plans if you could go to college or do just like, anything you want to do?” Just as the words have left his mouth he could kick himself. He asked almost an identical question half an hour earlier and Jack hasn’t wanted to contribute anything of the sort, so why would he now?

Eric immediately goes to apologise, but before he can open his mouth, Jack interrupts him.

“History, for sure. I’m watching documentaries all the time and some of them are inaccurate or have some questionable ‘facts’ in them, so I’d like to get into that more, but right now I just don’t have the time. I’d like to write and produce my own historical documentary one day.”

“Any special episode of time you’re interested in?”

“World War Two,” Jack says instantly.

“Wow, you’re really passionate about that.”

A beautiful blush rises in Jack’s cheeks and he looks away from Eric as if he said something wrong.

“That’s awesome, tell me more about it?”

With Eric’s request, random facts and historical context seem all to spill out of Jack. Eric listens attentively. He loves listening to Jack speaking, even if the subject isn’t one he normally favours, Jack makes everything sound so interesting.

They’ve been sitting at the tiny table for a long time, Jack telling the most incredible tales which are true no matter how far-fetched they sounded.

Eric is so engrossed in Jack’s story-telling abilities that he doesn’t even notice that Jack stopped talking at some point.

“Eric?”

“Yeah?”

“You look like you’ll fall any second now. Am I that boring?”

“No, no of course not! That was really interesting, I’ve never looked at history like this before.”

Jack looks delighted. “So, it’s not me and just a long day, eh?”

“Yeah, I could listen to you forever. You’d make a good documentary host. You have a good voice.”

Jack looks taken aback by Eric’s level of enthusiasm, but it is already too late for Eric to stop.

“I have a confession,” he says, and the rest of the story poured out of him. The one that reveals that this whole night has been about the sound of Jack’s voice.

Jack is frozen. He doesn’t even blink once. And Eric should know because he has been staring at Jack this whole time.

“—and I’ve clearly freaked you out, and I’m totally mortified, and I’m going to stop talking now,” he says and clamps his hand over his mouth to make extra sure he stops talking. _And now I’m going to die._

There is a long and painful silence. And then Jack’s features slide back into their usual state of composure.

“First of all,” he says, as smoothly and chirpy as anything he has said yet, “I’m flattered you came looking for _me_ and not a tree. This shows excellent taste on your behalf.”

The corners of Eric’s mouth twitch involuntarily. “I came looking for your _voice_.”

“Same difference,” Jack chirps him. Eric wants to retaliate but Jack stops him. “Second of all, I can’t believe it took you an entire month – not to mention, me physically entering your apartment – for you to ask me that question. Which, by the way, you still haven’t done yet, so I couldn’t possibly give you my answer until you do.” Jack is full on destroying him with his chirping game, but Eric can’t say he minds, not really.

He sits back and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

The grin on Jack’s face gets bigger and bigger. “Obviously, I don’t have anything to do tonight. So I can sit here as long as it takes.”

“Jack Zimmermann,” Eric says through gritted teeth. “Would you please consider lending your voice of a character in my new video?”

“That depends,” Jack places his hands behind his head. “How much does it pay?”

Eric’s heart staggers. He can’t believe he hasn’t even considered paying Jack. Lardo’s art friends had always done it for free. But of course, he should pay him. _Of course._

“Eric,” he says after Eric has been silent for twenty seconds. “I’m kidding.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding. Of course. I’ll do it. It sounds awesome.”

“I could pay you in food. You like pie or cake, or…” Eric starts rambling.

Jack stares at him. “You know what’s the strangest thing about tonight? Tonight, being an astoundingly strange night?”

“What?”

“That you still don’t realise I’m willing to do anything, anything” – he gestures in a full circle around them – “to stay in your company. You don’t need to pay me.”

Eric’s heart is in his throat. It’s been forever since he last was in a situation like this with another boy. A _handsome_ boy on top of that. Suddenly, he can’t think straight anymore.

Jack nudges one of Eric’s boots gently with his.

His boot – his foot – tingles.

A pounding on the door startles Eric out of his trance. “Keep it down in there! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

“Jesus,” Jack says. “She doesn’t stop.”

“Never.” Eric agrees, he gets up and trudges to the door.

“I mean, this is the quietest we’ve been since I arrived.”

“She does it even when Lardo and I are asleep. She’ll wake us up complaining about how loud we are.” Eric opens the door and plasters on a fake smile. “Mrs Smith. How can I help you?”

“It’s midnight. I can’t sleep with all this racket going on –” Mrs Smith cut herself off. “Oh my lord, you’ve been robbed!”

“No!” Eric takes a step forward.

Mrs Smith bolts back – one shaking hand on her chest, the other pointing at Jack. “That man! There is a strange man in your apartment.”

“That’s my friend.” Eric steadies his voice. “He works at the tree lot next door. You saw him here earlier? He’s been helping me clean. Doesn’t it look nice?”

“Do you need me to phone the police?” Mrs Smith hisses. “Are you in danger?”

Eric can barely hold back a dramatic eye roll. “Really, truly, everything is fine. That’s Jack. He’s my _friend_.”

Jack waves.

Mrs Smith’s expression changed. “Ah. Will he be leaving soon? You’ve been so loud tonight –”

“Yes, Mrs Smith. We’re sorry to have disturbed you. Good night.” Eric wants to slam the door shut, but he waits patiently. Politely. Stares her down. It has gotten chillier outside, brisker. It almost feels like … snow weather. Back down in Georgia it never snows for Christmas but Eric has always wanted a white Christmas.

At last, Mrs Smith relents and heads down the stairwell. Eric exhales loudly.

“Hello, friend,” Jack says, right behind Eric’s ear.

He startles.

And then he chances it – he bumps Jack’s chest with his shoulder lightly. Jack looks positively delighted. “Is that…” Jack scrunches up his nose and sniffs the air comically. “Snow. It smells like snow.”

“I was thinking the exact same thing.”

It hasn’t snowed this year, the few snowflakes they had at the beginning of November didn’t count, not really.

“I love snow.”

They say it at the same time. They glance at each other and a smile tugs on Eric’s lips. He can tell that Jack isn’t feeling much differently.

“I really hope it will snow. I’ve always wanted a white Christmas.”

“It looks like you might have a good chance this year.”

“It never snows in Georgia. I think that makes it even more special, you know?”

“I know, right? It’s the rareness that makes it so special.”

“That could be said about a lot of things.”

“True.” Jack’s gaze is glued to Eric’s. His smile widens.

Eric feels it, too. The rareness, the specialness, of Jack. Of this night. He wishes it could last forever.

Eric’s yawn disrupts their moment.

“Maybe we should finish up here,” Jack suggests.

They glance at the lingering items in the hallway – and the tree – and hurry back to work. They work as fast as they can, faster than Eric ever thought would be possible, everything is soon stacked against the living room’s longest wall.

Only the tree still remains.

Jack hefts it inside, like a groom carrying his blushing bride over the threshold, and placed it proudly in front of the sliding glass door. As he adjusted it in his stand, Eric vacuumed the fallen needles. He does another quick sweep of his bedroom, Lardo’s as well, while Jack rearranges the remaining furniture. A sofa, a small coffee table, and an antique looking glass lamp.

Eric is almost done when he spots the two Lego boxes sitting in a newly cleaned out corner of his own bedroom.

Eric carries them into the living room as if they were sacred.

“Look,” he says.

Jack turns on the lamp and Eric’s heart jolts. The area he created looked incredibly warm and snug and welcoming, just really comfortable. It looks like home. Even if the furniture isn’t his and everything around here is just a temporary situation, the feeling has changed completely.

It looks absolutely perfect in here. Everything looks perfect. Especially Jack who is standing next to the sofa with a bashful expression on his face.

“It’s not much …” he says.

“No. It is. It’s perfect.” This is, perhaps, the greatest gift he’d ever been given. His eyes well with tears. “Thank you.”

Jack smiles. “Come on. Let’s decorate your tree.”

Eric laughs, dabbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. “Oh, so it’s my tree now? I’ve earned it?”

Jack pretends to be shocked as if it only was a slip of tongue. Eric laughs again. He’s happy – the kind of happy that reaches every part of his body, the one that sends pleasant tingles everywhere – when he opens the first box. It was filled with neatly bound strings of white and blue lights.

The remaining content of the box is surprisingly tasteful and not that different from what Eric’s parents always use to decorate their tree back home.

Jack peers over his shoulder. “Go figure!”

“What?”

It’s like Eric caught Jack doing something wrong. Only then he realizes how close they are. Almost touching, but not quite there yet. Heat rises in Eric’s cheeks and he knows that if he was to look in a mirror he would be beet red.

Jack clears his throat and takes a step away from Eric’s back. They begin stringing the tree with lights. Tons of lights. Eric wants to use every single one that has been in the box and when they are done the tree is shining so brightly, the sparkling lights are almost blinding.

They hang the most random ornaments on the tree, Eric quietly comes to the conclusion that his landlord definitely has a weird taste in Christmas decoration to have bought any of these in the first place. Or maybe they just were a gift from a strange aunt and this is the reason why they landed in ‘storage’.

Reindeer and squirrels, suns and moons, big red and silver bulbs. Appels and pears and roses. And snowflakes. Lots and lots of silver snowflakes.

“Did you know,” Jack says, as he’s in the process of hanging a feathery blue jay, “that real trees are better for the environment than fake ones? A lot of people think the fake ones are better, because you have to throw out the real ones every year, but the real trees produce oxygen and provide wildlife habitats while they grow, and then, when they’re done, they can be ground into mulch to fertilise the earth. While the plastic ones just … rot in landfills. They can take _hundreds_ of years to decompose.”

Eric waits until Jack is done with his rant. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “I know.”

“Oh.” Jack stills. A tiny skunk is swaying back and forth on his index finger.

But Eric understands why Jack has felt the need to tell him. He nudges Jack’s arm. “I’m glad you’re working for the good guys, Jack.”

“I _am_ the good guys!” Jack says, trying a chirp, but failing miserably.

As they have put the final ornaments on the tree, Eric glances out the sliding-glass door. Tiny snowflakes are swirling and pirouetting down from the sky.

“Did you know it was snowing?”

Jack shrugs noncommittedly. “I might have.”

The tension between them was palpable, just to have something to do with his hands, Eric shoves the tissue paper of the ornaments back into the Lego boxes. Jack tucks away the boxes somewhere.

It feels like the night with Jack is coming to an end way too quickly as they run out of things to organise.

“So,” Jack says when the last box is perched on the furniture against the living room wall.

Eric takes off and rushes to the kitchen island. “Here.” He thrusts a plate of cookies into Jack’s hands. “That’s the only thing I have here now. I hope that’s alright.”

Jack’s face was illuminated in white and blue light. “Are those … Gingerbread … Ladies?”

“Um, yes. Lardo’s having a feminist phase at the moment, so I made some for her. She’s not all that into men right now.”

“And … how do you feel about them?” Jack asks carefully.

Eric raises his eyebrow. Is Jack really implying what he thinks he’s implying?

Jack’s face falls, barely noticeable when Eric doesn’t answer him right away.

“Uhm, I’m pretty okay with them, I guess.” His heart thumps faster and faster in his chest.

Jack takes the serving dish carefully to not squish the contents. “Would it … would it be okay if I called you sometime? I mean, if you’re still interested in the voice work, I’d be happy to help. I could stop by after a shift. I mean, I need to bring this back, anyway.” He lifts the dish in an uncharacteristically awkward gesture.

Jack could have kissed him. He could have done it, just out of the not-so-blue-anymore, just swooping in, but he is respectful. This tiny gesture makes Eric want to devour Jack whole. Or _be_ devoured whole.

Eric takes the serving dish out of Jack’s hands carefully and sets it aside. Coming in slowly, he places one hand on Jack’s cheek and one on his neck, pulling Jack down to his level.

Eric is kissing Jack, and Jack, Jack kisses him back.

Eric can’t quite believe how soft Jack’s lips feel on his, soft and warm, they fit together perfectly. Jack’s arms come around Eric’s torso to hold him close and Eric presses in closer to Jack’s chest. They are touching from knees to chest and Eric feels safe kissing Jack, it almost feels like home and he never ever wants to stop.

Eric’s hand slips in the shorter hairs at the nape of Jack’s neck. The curly hairs feel soft and he can’t stop stroking Jack’s hair while they are kissing. His other hand wanders from Jack’s cheek down to Jack’s chest and fists in Jack’s t-shirt. Jack lifts him up as if he weighed nothing, Eric wraps his legs around Jack’s waist and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. As if they are just rediscovering something they have never realised they’d lost.

Jack deepens the kiss, bringing Eric impossibly closer to him. They kiss like this, Eric’s body wrapped around Jack’s, for minutes. Logically it probably hasn’t been more than a few minutes, but for Eric, it feels like the world has stopped turning and the time is standing still just for him and Jack.

When Eric finally slides back to the ground, both of their knees are shaking.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” Jack confesses. His voice, so close to Eric’s ear sends shivers down his spine.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a month.”

“I want to do this for the _rest_ of the month.” Jack places feather light kisses on Eric’s upper lip, on the corner of his mouth and right on the tip of his nose. “And after.”

“And after.” Eric agrees but is cut off when their mouths find each other again.

“Okay, okay,” Eric laughs, a minute later. “You better leave before I’ll forget myself. I might not be able to control myself if we keep this up.”

Jack bends forward and hides his face in Eric’s neck. “Same here.” Jack couldn’t resist kissing Eric some more. And Eric as hell wouldn’t be the one to stop him.

Jack’s hair is dishevelled and his curls are sticking up in odd angles. Eric doubts that he’s looking much better. Well, he doesn’t mind at all, Jack doesn’t seem to mind either. They are laughing again. Dizzy with discovery – the wonder and thrill of their special connection.

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” Jack grins at Eric.

Eric tosses him his flannel shirt. “Don’t forget this, and don’t you forget my Gingerbread Ladies. I need another taste tester that’s not Lardo.”

“I’m honoured.” Jack interrupts himself, almost getting stuck in his flannel. “So what do you think your roommate will say to all of this when she comes home?”

“I have no idea. Lardo’s pretty much unpredictable. At least I’ll hope she’ll like it.”

“I’ll hope so.”

“Here, give me your phone.” Eric holds out his hand to Jack offering his phone. Jack tugs his phone out of his pocket and swaps it with Eric’s.

They both put in their phone numbers into the other’s phone. Jack hands Eric his back with a grin.

“I’ll call you later?”

“I’m looking forward to it, Jack.” Eric leads Jack to the door.

Jack opens the door and Jack is in the middle of stepping out when Eric holds him back.

“And I don’t get a goodnight kiss?” He asks cheekily.

A big fat grin lights up on Jack’s face and he bends down to capture Eric’s lips with his own.

“Goodnight, Eric. It was very nice meeting you.”

“Likewise. Goodnight, Jack.”

Jack disappears down the stairs, but Eric only closes his door when he hears Jack reaching the bottom of the flight of stairs. He sinks down to the floor, happy giggles floating out of him. He can’t believe this day, but he feels incredibly lucky to have been part of it.

* * *

The next morning Eric wakes up to the chime of his phone. He groans and rolls around in his bed until he remembers yesterday. The giddy feeling rises in his stomach when he opens up the message app on his phone.

Jack: **My shift ends at four today, do you want to have coffee with me after?**

Eric doesn’t want to seem too eager, but then he really likes Jack and he _is_ asking him out.

Eric: **I’d love to.** **:) I’ll come over and pick you up?**

He presses his phone to his chest and grins from one ear to the other. He can’t wait to see Jack again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! It would make me very happy if told me what you think in the comments down below!
> 
> Leave me a comment and kudos if you liked it! <3


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